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My performance at the mill was getting worse. All I could think about was the Finklestein house, that lesbian coven of weightlifting and murder. Every so often I would see Rachel driving past, and she would laugh. But I hadn’t seen Becky since last Saturday when she almost killed me for endorsing the wrong Fraggle. Sherry and Andy were away again and I was back in the garage. I thought about lifting weights, but when I examined the bar I thought of Becky Finklestein curling my max bench. For a warm up.So I went back to the bench where I had spent the past few days absent-mindedly whittling a little figurine of Smurfette. The Finklesteins had infested my every thought. They were all I could think about. Then I heard the garage door again.“Hey Mishhhter Parker, what are you doing?” called a sweet, chirpy little voice that chilled me to the bone.I turned around to see Becky Finklestein, in baggy corduroy pants and a baggy pink sweater. In the baggy, ill-fitting clothes she looked like a. .Sofa? HOW IN HELL DID SHE GET FROM THE KITCHEN TO THE LIVING ROOM? Someone put a glass of cold water in her hand, and helped her take a few swallows. It was good, but, right now she needed something much stronger. She remembered the bottle of whisky in the cabinet, and asked for some of it. a glass was pressed into her hand. She took a sip. It was the whisky. She threw it down, like a lumberjack. Things began to clear up a tiny bit. Someone asked if she wanted some more. She nodded, and felt the amber liquid peing poured into the glass. She downed it too.She looked around her. Carol, Misti, and Mary were with her. She looked over her shoulder. Dave was grinning at her. "WELL! How was it?" Still in a fog, it took her a second to piece together what had happened. She remembered Misti kissing her, then she was in here. Everything else was a blur. She felt between her legs one more time. "Did I pee on myself?" Everyone was laughing. "NO, Sweetheart." Mary answered. "You have just had.
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